The Three Words
by Zarius
Summary: An adaptation of Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs" based on the arc structure of series four of Sherlock .
1. Prolouge

**PROLOUGE**

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

* * *

Sherlock briefly took his eye off of Molly as she checked his pulse

He had anticipated John's reactions to such a precise and exact science, even his friend's frantic pacing up and down the lane was very much in line with how he knew he'd react.

"Keep still" Molly said, placing the cold end of the stethoscope onto to Sherlock's bare chest, listening for any irregular beats. To her silent alarm, she found a few.

Sherlock could tell from her face that this was unsettling her

"I don't make it easy on you do I?" he asked.

"When you gamble with your health the way you have, no, no Sherlock it's never easy" Molly replied.

"Do you think John is right? Do you think I use you?" Sherlock inquired.

"I like to be useful, that's how I like to look at it" she said.

"A comfortable lie, obscuring truth...the truth is that I am not one of the better men in your life" Sherlock replied, coughing gently as Molly gave his lower regions a tight grip with her right hand.

"Most of the people in my life never respond to me, living or dead, the fact you and John still do puts you in far better company"

"What would it take for you to wash your hands of me?" Sherlock suggested.

"I think I've got a lot of you to wash off as it is" Molly remarked.

Sherlock's face briefly lit up, appreciating the joke.

"No" he said calmly, "I mean this in the most sincere manner Molly Hooper, if you finally caved, if you believed I could never come back from the path I've travelled down, that I could not be fixed or saved, how would you convey that to me?" Sherlock asked.

"Are you asking me this because you're not so sure you're coming back from this?" Molly asked.

"I need you to look past the physical examination, and examine your sense of self...everyone has a breaking point..."

"I would break it to you gently" said Molly.

"With three words I imagine" Sherlock muttered.

"What was that?" Molly asked.

Sherlock remained silent.

"Nevermind...it wasn't my place to say, tell me more"

"I'd...give something back, something that was meaningful...to you, to me, to let you know that I wouldn't want to keep even that which mattered"

"The riding crop?" Sherlock asked.

Molly sighed.

"This isn't what you want to hear is it? What I would do...this is about what you think John would give back, if he felt he couldn't put up with you anymore"

"I knew our brief time as investigators together would permit you to compose a most precise deduction" Sherlock said in a complimentary manner.

"I observe plenty, like you do, but I don't exactly sit still and let it stir me" Molly replied in response, handing Sherlock his trousers. Sherlock quickly snatched them up.

"Thank you for the thorough examination" Sherlock replied.

"His cane" Molly suddenly said aloud.

Sherlock's eyes lit up.

 _Of course._

"If John didn't want to come back, if he felt there was no going back, he'd hand you his cane, back when he had that phantom pain, the pain you...the pain _you_ took away. He'd want you to have that, as a crutch" she said.

"Excellent, be sure to tell him that when you nip over to his place for some quality time with the baby" Sherlock replied.

"Wait, you want me to tell him...all that? What someone would do to cut ties to someone they care about?" Molly asked, confused.

"In her best sentimental manner, yes" Sherlock said.

"Are you trying something funny?" Molly inquired.

"We are crossing over to a place where there is no room for error or jest...I need John to part ways with that cane at a precise moment, a moment where everyone except myself must lose sight and sense of the plan"

"What if John sees it more like a trick?" Molly asked.

"Then I shall set myself a reminder that, to John, I must distinguish strategy from magic"

As Sherlock proceeded to put back on his clothes so that he may get on with more of what he had planned, Molly reflected on John's words to her from earlier, about being used, and what Sherlock had just said to her.

She knew this wasn't a game, and she would be as direct about that to Sherlock's face as he would be to John, but she could not help but feel the long term goal Sherlock obviously had in mind, to mend the fractured path he and John walked together on, could be best mended by her playing along.

And to that end, she was determined to make her role count in the magician's circle.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

Sherlock Holmes sat in his favourite chair at 221B Baker Street studying a letter most intently, letting no other voice distract him.

Even ones that were persisting he look over another two entirely different matters.

Mycroft Holmes and Doctor John Watson stood at the edge of the door, watching Sherlock like a hawk as he read the letter. At times, he would even recite some of the letter's contents aloud, and sometimes he'd simply lip read. The letter was only one page, yet Sherlock seemed compelled to make it seem like it lasted the length of a novel.

"Do you want any tea?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Coffee actually" Mycroft replied.

"Kettle's over there" Mrs. Hudson remarked, pointing to it on the edge of the table next to John's chair.

John looked at his watch and stared again at the DVD he had been carrying in his hand for the better part of an hour since arriving back at Baker Street. Mycroft took note of it

"Is this connected to our present day conundrum?" he said as he looked at the words written on the DVD

 _Miss You?_

"What this? No, no it's something a little more private. Strictly for our eyes only, if he can ever take his eyes and minds off whatever the hell he's doing" said John.

Sherlock suddenly sprang up from his chair and did some stretching, before strolling towards John and plucking the DVD from his hands

"Right, let's take a look at this shall we?"

"Now's not the time Sherlock" said John.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and then back at the DVD

"Perfectly understandable John, time is a tide and you never know how long it takes for it to carry all within its path away"

"Then may we proceed with..." Mycroft began

"..Five minutes between just me and John? Splendid idea" Sherlock said, cutting him off

"Five?"

"Only five Mycroft, do distract yourself" Sherlock continued, walking over to his laptop and booting it up.

"Family comes first Sherlock" Mycroft insisted

"Which is why John stays" Sherlock sternly replied, a commanding tone in his voice, he steadily forced Mycroft to steadily walk backwards out of the flat. Sherlock slammed the door shut behind him.

John and Sherlock walked over to the laptop, carrying the DVD.

"You're being awful to him" said John.

"Don't be stupid, it's just your average case of brotherly fiction"

"No, don't be a condescending cock Sherlock, I can read the tone in your voice explicitly, you're furious at him. He's come all the way up here, and from how he was with me while you were taking the average lifetime of a snail with that letter, he sounded like he really needed a word in your ear" John revealed.

Sherlock glanced at his friend with a slightly unhinged look, his eyes conveying, behind his slightly energized facade, a slither of frustrated reality. John could tell he was hurting, that Mycroft had somehow hurt him.

That, and something else. Something all too recent, and something John was all too aware of.

"Mycroft is here at my request, the time allocated to his presence is entirely at my own convenience" Sherlock insisted.

"Are you ok?" said John

"Are you?" Sherlock asked, "It's only been twenty four hours since you were hit with the tranquiliser"

"It felt like I was hit with enough to kill an elephant" said John.

"Yes, well, at least the memory is raw for you. That's the thing about elephants, they never forget" observed Sherlock.

"What was in that letter" said John.

"An update from a client of mine, a Mr. Garrideb, he was letting me know someone from Kansas had arranged a meeting with me on this specific date"

"Who's coming from Kansas?" asked John

"Mr. Garrideb" said Sherlock

"Wait...Garrideb told you to expect Garrideb?"

"Yes"

"Brothers?"

"No" Sherlock revealed.

The computer finished booting up, Sherlock urged John to hand him the DVD. He placed it in the computer drive and opened up the media player to play its contents.

As the video player loaded, the bright, cheerful features of the late Mary Watson came into view

"P.S..." she began.

Suddenly, the imagery slowly broke down into small discombobulated chunks, everything went blank, and without warning, a bright blue screen all too familiar to anyone who worked with a computer sprang up.

"Oh for Christ's sake, I just took this out of the shop for you two days ago" said John

"Well there must have a lingering Trojan in it" said Sherlock.

"I told you we should have just watched this at my place..." continued John

"Well we might as well cut those five minutes short" Sherlock said with a huff and walked over to the door to let Mycroft back in.

"Only on the condition you yourself at not so short to him Sherlock" John replied.

Sherlock opened the door, Mycroft had remained where he had been. Sherlock urged him to pass over, like someone inviting in a vampire.

Mycroft stood before the two men, astute, confident, but also, beneath his disciplined exterior, he felt the slight hint of intimidation.

"This conversation must goes the way I deem appropriate for the day's agenda" Sherlock instructed, "Stray from the subject and you will take your last bow at my door"


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 _I that am lost, oh who will find me?  
Deep down below the old beech tree  
Help succor me now the east winds blow  
Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go"_

The currency of buried memories had been spent most wisely during Sherlock's rare dips into reminiscence, but as Mycroft began to tell both he and John the truth, the process of nostalgia was proving worrisomely expensive as well as taxing.

Clear sounds and smells conjured forth crystal clear imagery in Sherlock's mind, memories of a calmer time, a place where water lay still, but the sky was pierced with the deafening cries of pure unfiltered laughter and bold exclamation. Someone was eager to intrude upon the water, stomping into every wet patch, holding a sword high, proclaiming himself a king of what lay above the deep.

He, and one other. A pet.

A determined command, an obedient bark, and something else too.

Something hidden.

As Mycroft continued to describe these precious days, Sherlock homed in on what was concealed, at first he thought the words had come from his own lips, a hearty melody in fitting tribute to the ocean of possibility that lay before the inspired child that tread through it.

But the voice attached to the words came across as more feminine. For all the girlish insults thrown in his direction by a youth bullish, younger Mycroft, an arrogant means of imposing some misguided control on his sibling, Sherlock knew he did not possess the voice or the soul of an angel.

The voice was almost heavenly, which made the clearest of revelations all too hellish to bear.

"I did have a sister" Sherlock said aloud, his eyes snapping open, departing from the meadow he had played in as a child with his most loyal friend and the picture that had until this point been nothing but a neglected puzzle.

"I would not dare play such a game with you" uttered Mycroft.

"I have a sister and I can't remember her, why is that?"

"But you do Sherlock...on a precise subconscious and even psychological level, every path you've ever walked, every choice you've ever made, the man you are today is your memory of Euros" Mycroft replied.

"What kind of hold does she have on him?" John asked, "I mean, he clearly went one step beyond her, people only do that if there's a tremendous trauma. Prior to meeting Sherlock I got the bends from PTSD all the time, I had to manufacture a kind of mental reality for myself, and trust me it's not easy"

"Does anything reawaken what you buried Doctor Watson?" said Mycroft.

"The occasional sound of a bang triggers me, which I might add, did not lead to a humane series of dreams while I was unconscious, considering I was shot"

"Trigger sounds are one thing, I was using trigger words to stir up the memories in Sherlock's mind" Mycroft explained

"The song you sang just as you began recounting our days at the family home...you knew they were enough to get me to piece together the puzzle"

"I gambled Brother Mine, you've come a long way from being encased in the ice, there was a time before John Watson where you would not have let me in"

"I wonder if you reckon I should never have left the iceberg behind...given what Euros has done to dampen the flames that set me loose from it" replied Sherlock.

"It cannot be her. She is secure up in Sherringford"

"Sherringford?" John replied.

"An island prison, a sanctuary for society's undesirables, society's unhinged" Mycroft continued, "It is a place where both maximum and national security go hand to hand in unholy matrimony. So tightly secure is Sherringford that no direct funding goes to anyone who functions as a guard or supervisor there"

"Securing crazed killers and psychopaths is considered probono these days, of course" John spoke, rolling his eyes.

"It's to ensure nobody can make a direct connection to those who secure the prison through their private and public accounts, and make them or their families a direct target" Mycroft explained.

"These triggers you have for my memories, you used a song, but that can only take you to a time, I need a place. I deduce you have a word for that?"

"Mustgrave" Mycroft replied.

True to Mycroft's words, the memories suddenly stirred within Sherlock's mind, he was cast adrift in nostalgia as he returned to a happier time, finding himself surrounded by a brighter hue in the sky and a crisp green field. His present self was joined this time in his memory by mental projections of Mycroft and John.

"The ancestral family home...where there was always honey for tea" Mycroft spoke, the tone in his voice concealing as much tangible pain as possible in favour of something more vaguely sentimental about days where innocence should have been the order of every day, but the sharp reality was all too clear.

Sherlock's long eroded childhood memories kicked back in as he continued to trace the source of the song playing through his head. He saw beyond the exterior walls of Mustgrave manor and focused on the interiors, where he, Mycroft and Euros all had toast and honey.

He focused on the imagery of Euros, the familiar song coming from her lips

 _I that am lost, oh who will find me?  
Deep down below the old beech tree  
Help succor me now the east winds blow  
Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go"_

He was sure there was more to the song, and more importantly, a meaning to them.

"This Euros...is she as clever as Sherlock?" John asked

"In what manner?" Mycroft replied

"I don't know...the deduction thing maybe?"

"She was capable of more than Sherlock, and even a step or two above myself, she was on par with Newton...but she envied Sherlock's fascination with mysteries. in particular she loved to create some, in many ways she always wanted to provide us with a challenge, to pit our wits against ourselves, she told me that many times, but never to Sherlock"

"Why not?" John asked

"Obviously I was very busy" Sherlock said.

"You were busy playing Pirates. She had no stomach for that, she wanted to be a pilot, steering a plane high above the heavens, responsible for every passenger on board. She became so distant after what happened at Mustgrave that she practically stays aloft in the clouds now"

"Mustgrave...what happened?" John continued

"Redbeard" said Sherlock

"You're triggering yourself now, a modestly healthy sign" complimented Mycroft.

Sherlock's mind cast back to the pet, the family dog, a constant companion to Sherlock. Not quite a pirate to place atop his shoulder like the conventional sort of Pirate, but Sherlock was a child always above convention.

Then came the days where he barked no more, where he no longer followed his lead, and as a result Sherlock was swiftly obsessed with following his trail, looking high and low and which direction the winds took him...until he realized his fate lay within the east.

"She killed him" Sherlock realized, "She killed my dog"

"She made mention of drowning him, but we never recovered the bones" Mycroft responded.

"So killing the dog was compelling grounds to just lock her away from the rest of society? No visits from even you or your parents?"

"Euros was as cruel to herself as she was to whatever made Sherlock happy...she was once caught attempting to inflict self-harm on herself, she wanted to know which of her muscles caused her the most pain. Finally, after see a log roast on a fire, she wanted to see how damage and distress a flame could cause the human condition...she wanted to try an experiment, an extremist sort of test Sherlock was renowned for pulling on people. Mustgrave burned bright that night"

"My god" John whispered.

"She was incarcerated shortly after, but once it became clear her intelligence had... _uses_ beneficial to national security, she was transported to Sherringford. We informed the family that she had perished starting another fire and nothing more could be done"

"Her intelligence had uses?" Sherlock asked

"She could predict, to a precise detail, several successful terrorist campaigns, including the big one"

"Pauline the Octopus in human form? That's what caused all this" John said. Mycroft nodded.

John stood up and gave Mycroft a heated and sharpened glance with feverishly cross eyes

"You kept this buried to us until it was too late, if he knew where she was, he could have reached out to her, came to some kind of emotional closure, put the memory behind him in a healthier manner, you knew all of this and it helped forged him into the sociopath soldier he is now"

"I did indeed"

"So do something about it" John insisted.

"It doesn't work like that, I get regular updates on Sherringford, but I am not permitted to go there. They fear I will be emotionally compromised" Mycroft explained.

"It is your obligation to try brother mine, I am perhaps more mentally disciplined to deal with how emotionally unravelled she is" Sherlock spoke.

"For god's sake, this eternal global drama has not and will never be specifically be about just your character Sherlock" Mycroft responded.

The sharp and barely restrained tension in the room was soon interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock, a Mr. John Garrideb from Kansas is waiting downstairs for you"

"My five minutes are up, it seems" Mycroft concluded ,"I advise you spend the remainder of the day doing what you do best brother mine, I have arrangements tonight which may place me in a position to put forward the next phase of grief for you"

"Ah good, I do love it when we approach critical level Bargaining" said Sherlock.


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **"** Make no mistake Mr. Holmes, I know you have a humble spirit" said John Garrideb, fidgeting with his partially clipped fingernails, the only flawed complexion of a most refined character.

Well dressed, his face short and clean-shaven, your average self-made American gentleman, with the unique element of arresting eyes and less exaggeration and eccentricity in his manner of speech, which surprised John and fascinated Holmes.

"Really?" Sherlock asked

"I heard you turned down a knighthood just this week" John replied.

"Yes, well, the Queen wouldn't honour my own request for her advocation, so I felt it was an appropriate moment to disappoint her for the good of England" replied Holmes.

John permitted himself a wry chuckle, unable to detect that Sherlock was being most serious.

"Well they'll be time for laughs later, I believe you received a series of letters from a Nathan Garrideb the last couple of days" John inquired.

"I will hand you the letters if you can verify to me that you truly are from Mooretown, Kansas, USA, that IS a most fetching bit of Englishman attire you're wearing, what with the shoulder cut of your coat and the toes on your boots" Sherlock spoke, observant of John's fashion

John turned to Watson with a look of anxious curiosity

"Is this it?" he asked

"Is it what?" Watson asked.

"Those weird Jedi parlour tricks he does with his mind to tell if someone's got something to hide?" John added.

"Trust me, it's best you let him get it out of his system, he's having...issues with family" Watson explained in as appropriate a fashion as possible so as to keep Sherlock's personal matters private.

Garrideb was not about to permit Holmes to use him as a means to escape from his own little dramas, not when his own was unfolding.

"Business is what brings me here Mr. Holmes, just as business has kept me in England for a good long while, hence why I dress in accordance with the times and places I live in. I _adapt_ Mr. Holmes, now let me assure you that my dress sense, as well as my time, will not be wasted on your talents, not when they can be put to better use"

"Mr. Garrideb, as my good friend beside me can testify on my behalf, my skills are never a waste of any one person's time. My digressions always prove to have some bearing on the matters of the day "

"You're showing off" Garrideb said, his voice echoing both surprise and ever so slight disgust.

"No, I just like to be persistent with my powers, just as you are persistent with trying my patience" Sherlock replied, a tender sting in his composed voice.

John turned back to Watson.

"Family trouble you say?" he asked.

"He hasn't talked to his sister" Watson remarked, trying to keep Sherlock's matters private but not being able to resist summing them up in humorous fashion.

Sherlock handed him the most recent letter that had alerted him to John's appointment.

John maintained silence for a time, almost as long as Holmes had spent mediating over it to spite Mycroft's time and patience.

Finally, he got up from the chair, and gave Holmes, who remained seated, a rather disciplined look.

"Can I be blunt with you Mr. Holmes?

"Very"

"I'm pissed off"

Sherlock's face lit up and he pounced on this moment of aggravation..

"Really? I'd say judging from the marked stains on your waist and trousers, and a faint whiff of pungent secretion masked distinctly by a barely noticeable dose of aftershave, you certainly enjoy being pissed ON, tell me Mr. Garrideb, are you heavily into water sports?"

"Sherlock, keep it together" Watson said, cautioning his friend not to surrender to the sheer will of his ego.

"Why did Nathan _have_ to involve you?" remarked an angry Garrideb, "This matter between us was perfectly professional 'till he tried to stick your nose into the matter. When I saw him just yesterday, he told me up front about his dirty tactic"

"Nathan knew I had the resourceful skill needed to supply him with information, It's logic that dictates all reasonable choice, and as such I made for a most natural selection" Sherlock continued.

Garrideb's demeanour gradually mellowed.

"Now when you put it like that Holmes, I guess I see his point, but I warn you now...there's to be no involvement from the cops"

"Police" corrected Sherlock, "You are in England after all"

Garrideb's fixed his crooked tie and nodded.

"Police are only of any worth to my work if it involves matters where they intrude heavily upon it. I am perfectly content to help you find the man you and Nathan are searching for" Sherlock replied.

Garrideb took a swift glance at Watson.

"You might want to step out for this" he said

"John stays...more to the point, he will be informed of what is going on" Sherlock insisted.

"Need he know?" Garrideb asked.

"We work together" Watson replied.

"Oh I see...oh I totally get it. Don't worry guys, we live in acceptable times" Garrideb replied, patting John on the shoulder with his right hand and giving Sherlock an assuring thumbs up and a wink. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Right then" Garrideb began, sitting back down, "This is a story all about how Alexander Hamilton turned us all upside down..."

"Alexander who?" Watson asked

"Alexander Hamilton Garrideb" Sherlock replied.

"Another one? And this one's not related to you or Nathan either?" Watson inquired further.

"Nope, but his wealth is what connects all of us sir" Garrideb explained, "Over in Kansas, he's a bit of a local legend, he made his fortune in Chicago, and bought up land close to the Arkansas River, just west of Fort Dodge. All manner of land too. Grazing, lumber, mineralized, the works. He had no next of kin or significant other, he spent a long time contemplating why , and he just summed it up to being a bit of an eccentric with unique qualities, chief among which was his name."

"He had a fascination with it. You recall the forced memes he tried to stir up on Tumblr and 4chan don't you?" Sherlock replied

"Wait, you go to 4chan?" asked Watson.

Garrideb quickly brought the conversation back to its original topic.

"It was a pet fad of his, he got loads of replies online from people with the same name, but he felt he needed a specific circle of real friends with the same name, ones he could make time for. That's where I came in. I was working at a firm in Topeka when I met Alexander. We struck up a friendship and he told me to go find at least one other Garrideb in the world. I told him I had more meaningful work to do, but he told me that he had a plan, and if all went well, it's all I would ever be doing"

"Alexander died last year John" Sherlock added, "And his passing brought forth a reading of a will"

"Queerest will I've ever read, if you'll forgive my politically incorrect language gentlemen" replied Garrideb, "The State of Kansas decreed his estate be split into three components, to be shared by only three people who shared the name 'Garrideb'. I had been specifically tasked in the will to find the other two. I had no luck in my own neck of the woods, so I came here, and eventually stumbled on Nathan"

"And now you need only one other Garrideb to seize control of the estate and it's worth promised in the will" Watson concluded.

"Got it in one sir" said Garrideb, nudging Watson again on the shoulder and rummaging through his hair. Between this and being put to sleep by Euros earlier, Watson was beginning to feel a little too much like a domestic pet instead of an attentive war dog.

"Rather whimsical wouldn't you say John?" said Sherlock, chuckling a little as he made note of Watson's perturbed facial expressions.

Sherlock turned his attention back to Garrideb to ask him something else.

"I couldn't help but fixate on the fact you hail from a firm in Topeka. I used to know someone there, a correspondent, and a former mayor. He died in 2012 I believe...Doctor Lysander Starr"

"That's the one, ol' Lucky Starr we called him" Garrideb replied with a jaunty tone, pounding the air with his fist.

"Yes, you could always tell how fortunate a time it was to be alive when you were in his company" Sherlock said. Watson detected a note of sarcasm in the delivery of this.

"Well, I'd best leave you to get on with it. I'll come back in about two days" said Garrideb, taking a formal bow and then his leave of the two gentlemen.

Watson peered over to Sherlock, snapping his fingers to get his attention more rapidly as he prepared to retreat back into himself.

"Sherlock...what was that little act just there?" Watson asked, "You've never mentioned a Doctor Starr to me before"

Sherlock glanced upwards with a look of smug satisfaction, Watson drew a quick conclusion of his own in an attempt to match the high his friend was on.

"He was lying wasn't he? You caught him in a lie"

"It was a rigmarole of lies John" Sherlock replied

"And you just let him think he hoodwinked us?" Watson continued

"Sometimes it's better not to lead an attack from the front" Sherlock continued

"Is he even American?" Watson asked.

"Oh he's very much American, but he's spent years in London, oh this man is a rascal, make no mistake John. A complex and ingenious one, and definitely what we both need at the moment to postpone heading into the east wind"

"Depending on whether or not Mycroft can pull some strings" Watson replied.

"Oh I reckon my brother may be able to make some sizably small progress" Sherlock said, chuckling mischievously.

"Progress of what kind?" Watson asked

"With love" Sherlock responded.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

Mycroft took another long gaze into the mirror, checking his features with a thorough eye, looking for anything that may serve to distract from his charmed, sophisticated expression.

When he was satisfied, he disengaged from his reflection and strolled out of the bathroom and headed back down the looming corridors of his most adequate abode to greet his guest for the afternoon.

To his delight, he found her just a few feet ahead of him within the corridor, examining the art lined on the walls.

"Why does this one bleed?" asked Lady Smallwood, analysing a picture of an astute cavalier with blood red stains dripping from his eyelids

"That was a birthday present from Sherlock" said Mycroft.

"It looks expensive" she noted.

"Not the painting, the trick" Mycroft corrected her, "The painting was a much treasured family heirloom that had resided in the home for generations before it was bequeathed to me. Sherlock elected to conduct one of his rather crude and cruel psychological experiment, he thought my use of practical deduction was lacking and crafted a small conundrum for me to work out "

"Did you succeed?" asked Smallwood, folding her arms and giving Mycroft a look that would determine whether or not he would impress her enough to stay a little longer if he were to supply the right answer.

"There were many other tricks and traps used in the conundrum, including the use of some of my own friends bribed to work against me dressed like girls and clowns, throwbacks to childhood traumas of my own, and perhaps that little turn I did in The Importance of Being Earnest. The painting was my fear of the family bloodline bleeding dry while in my custody. I can assure you, however, contrary to what my brother thought at the time, I can, at the behest of pressure, possess the energy to verify my own conclusions"

Smallwood smirked, and waltzed down the spiral staircase towards the dining room, Mycroft swiftly following her.

She was greeted below by two of her bodyguards, who escorted her into the dining room where a fresh bottle of champagne entrenched in a bucket surrounded by frigid ice awaited them.

Mycroft pulled up a chair for his guest, she sat down and readily awaited the pouring of the cold refreshment before her at Mycroft's hand.

"I must confess Mycroft, your reputation does get about at the office, and the more I hear of your character, the more compelled I am by it" Smallwood said in compliment to Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled, his ego tickled by assured comments.

"How far do the compliments extend?" he asked.

"They said you have the tidiest and most orderly of brains, a great capacity for storing facts on any man or woman recorded as living. Between you and me, it's not just a couple of conclusive theories that are passed on to you at our department for oversight, it's just about every one of them" Smallwood continued.

Now Mycroft was truly encouraged to pursue the true purpose of this little arrangement.

He popped open the bottle and poured it's clear contents into both his glass and Smallwood's', raising a toast.

"To the trust of the department" he said, "And to Love"

The two glasses collided, and the liquid contents quickly graced their lips, Mycroft sat down. Smallwood's security team stood to the left and right of him, their arms folded in front of their waists.

"We know of Euros Holmes Mycroft, we know she was set loose" said Smallwood.

"Ah, then you have deduced the purpose of your visit beyond just pleasure" said Mycroft.

"It was never for pleasure Mycroft, you rely on the opportunities given to you, I handed you my number knowing you would have to reach out to me to deal first hand with this situation off-the-record" Smallwood revealed.

"You looked into Sherringford after I told you it was secure?" Mycroft asked.

"That I did, I was hoping to put in a good word for you myself" Smallwood continued, "The 'Ice Man', that's what they call you Mycroft. Someone who is approachable in the emotionally compelling times, knowing you can calm the raging waters"

"If I am in such fine standing, why is it such an impossibility I not be granted an audience with Euros Holmes? I have proven myself above all measure. I shall not be compromised or intimidated"

"We know that. God helps us, we know that" Smallwood continued, this time downing the remains of the liquid within the glass in one gulp. "It took until Euros was set upon the land for us to realize that perhaps there is a plan and place for you" she added.

Mycroft should have been pleased with the ease at which the conversation had went, but all he could think of were words a young and freshly educated Sherlock had said to him all those years ago when he was first appointed caretaker of the bleeding cavalier.

 _"Suppose a minister needed information which involved the Navy, India, Canada and the Bimetallic question. You can focus on each at once where I could only seek each source separately, you can say offhand which factor affects the other"_

The words formed mental imagery in his head, not of the past, but of the most recent events in the present. These last few minutes specifically.

 _You can say off-hand each factor affects the other_

 _Off-hand_

 _"Off the record"_

 _"There is a_ _plan_ _and place for you"_

" _A plan"_

 _"A plan"_

"A plan" Mycroft said aloud, Smallwood nodded, almost relieved.

"You win again" she said.

* * *

Nathan Garrideb had included in his letters to Sherlock some contact information, including a phone number. At Sherlock's insistence, John was the one to make the call directly to him.

"Why exactly am I ringing him up?" asked John.

"Please John, ever since Mary died, you've barely reached out to anyone outside of your immediate circle, I'm just trying to get you to lean again on the ear of strangers hoping they draw you into an extension of the world you're in"

"No, you're just sodding lazy" John revealed.

As the phone buzzed, a thin, quavering voice on the other end soon answered. John could sense it was heavily modulated.

"Y-yes?"

"Hello, is this Nathan Garrideb?" John asked

The voice danced around this question with swift stutters

"It-i-it is" he said.

"This is Doctor John Watson, I'm calling on behalf of a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe you've been in contact with him the last few days"

The voice seemed most delighted to hear the mention of Sherlock's name

"Oh yes, is-is-he there? P-p-please let me t-t-talk to him i-f h-he i-is"

John sighed and handed the phone to Holmes

"So much for me reaching into a stranger's ear, seems all they want is to reach into yours" John said. Sherlock shot him an understanding smirk and took the phone from him.

"Yes Nathan, it's good to finally hear from you...listen, I think I may be free for the next twenty-four hours or minimally less. I have a lot of personal baggage to get through, so our time is precious, can we arrange an appointment this evening?" Sherlock asked

"O-oh I shouldn't think I-I'll be too busy, no-not too many places I can g-go i-in m-my condition, j-just the one and that's where I belong" Nathan stuttered, "Yo-you are most welcome Mr. Holmes. T-the address you're lo-looking for is 136 Apple Tree Yard"

"I presume your brother from another forename won't be joining us?" Sherlock asked

"N-No I shouldn't th-think so" Nathan confirmed.

"Splendid, we'll be there then"

"N-not just y-you Mr. Holmes?" said Nathan.

"Dinner for three, do prepare the table. Oh, and you need not mention our visit to your lawyer friend" Sherlock instructed, and hung up the phon.

Hours passed, and in the twilight of a clear spring evening, both Holmes and Watson made their way over to Little Ryder Street using John's car. John took the time to indulge in a little game of 'carshare' with his friend, who, while slightly reenergized by a most curious case, was still somewhat unclear of how to best deal with the Easterly winds that had picked up in recent days.

"We're thinking of getting a sensory room for Rosie" said John as Sherlock stared out the window of the car watching as the houses passed by him.

"You're thinking of surrounding her with bright lights in the big city?" Sherlock asked.

"Were you quoting Cyril Green just there?" said John. Sherlock didn't answer, John shook his head and carried onward with the topic.

"It's to stimulate and calm her, she hasn't been easy since Mary died" John responded.

"Don't drive her to distraction, her psychological complexion even at this stage of their development, will pick up these things and adjust it to its life going forward" Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock, contrary to what you think, infants are in no rush to grow up"

"Children are eager to grow before they are ready, as it prepares them better for life down the road. Events in this world can force them to make something of themselves as soon as they learn to walk and talk, even before then, they have instinctive souls" Sherlock explained.

"I'm in no rush to adjust myself in preparation for that. I take things at a very specific speed"

"And that would explain why we haven't gotten to Ryder Street with more persistent haste" Sherlock said.

He did not enjoy car rides half as much as others, it compelled the heavier thoughts in his mind to manifest in order to ward off nagging feelings of impatience and thorough boredom.

"Not everyone can cruise the road like Mrs. Hudson in a state of desperation Sherlock"

In spite of his frustration with the speed at which John travelled, Sherlock was relieved and permitted himself to feel a little better when the car reached its destination, parking next to a dated blue Nissan with an open bonnet, and a small puddle of oil spilling out from beneath it.

Apple Tree Yard, an off-shoot of the Edgeware Road, glistened beautifully in the setting sun.

The abode of Nathan Garrideb was an old-fashioned early Georgian edifice, a flat brick face broken only by two bay windows on the ground floor.

Sherlock deduced that Nathan's living quarters were stationed on the ground, given the conditions of his voice on the phone were indicative of someone who's breathing complications would require him to be stationed in a position where he could venture outside for help or for fresh air.

As the two exited the car and approached the main door, Sherlock pointed out the name plate etched on the right side of the house.

"Garrideb...it is his real name" he said.

"You thought he was lying too?" asked John.

"The quest for financial comfort has a rare temper for truth John" Sherlock said, and knocked on the door. An interior buzz was heard from within, and the door automatically opened, allowing the two to step inside.

As soon as they entered, several voices began to play, some belonging to females and children, others sounding like deeply troubled men of principle and of militant stature. Sherlock was fascinated. John felt it was all a little too weird.

"Welcome strangers, welcome" came one such voice in an exaggerated American accent

"Who's there?" John asked

"We note with regret that Nathan's gorgeous personal assistant Mrs. Saunders can't be with you in person to schedule an appointment, but if you are expected, you can proceed as you like"

Further doors opened up before the two of them, the voice swiftly shut itself off.

"Automatic voice recording" said Sherlock.

The two came across several names painted on doors that no knob or any such means that granted anyone access, each of them had a specific letter and a date under them.

One of the doors caught Sherlock's eye, beginning at 1980 and all ending with 2014.

Two of the doors ahead of them appeared to have been given a fresh coat of paint, and were listed as 1983 and 1986 respectively, but both the second dates below again belonged to 2015

The two entered the final door and entered a most lavish looking quarters, at the centre of which, awaiting them like a gloomy foreboding representation of Darth Vader in _The Empire Strikes Back_ , was Nathan Garrideb.

Tall, loose-jointed, gaunt, bald, cadaverous features, his skin dead and most dull. This was man to whom exercise had never been an immediate priority. His large round spectacles and a small goat's beard presented him as an amiable and eccentric individual.

Sherlock and John also found they were occupants of a most peculiar room. A museum of sorts.

Cupboards and cabinets lay everywhere. Atop each of them were a crowded line of glass containers housing mounted butterflies and moths. Interestingly, like the doors they had passed, each cabinet was listed with a specific date, this time some of them stretched back to the 1960s and the later dates were for the late 2000s and mid 2010s.

John gazed at the mess of old copies of _The Beano_ , _The Guardian_ newspaper and even issues of _Women's Weekly_ placed in the middle of a large table within the centre of the room. A casket full of ancient gold coins stood out amongst the items. Behind the centre table was a casket full of old bones.

Nathan was surrounded on all sides by audio speakers, he wore a small headpiece with a mobile microphone attached to it.

"Yo-You must forgive the ra-rather uncommon app-approach to an o-open dialogue with my gu-guests" he said, "I-I have su-such a lo-low voice, the speakers a-re t-to help e-elevate it" he spoke.

"Oh how commanding" Sherlock complimented, "You have the best sort of set-up for one of those motivational speaking tours, provided you ever journey outside, which I suspect is only ever due in case of great urgency"

"My d-doctors always a-advise me to st-step ou-outside. Usually for s-short bursts. I'm n-not t-hat keen to, you might say my fav-favourite spot is a bit of a s-steep hill to c-climb"

"If I were you, I'd take a drive down to _Sotheby'_ s or _Chrise_ 's, they're most absorbing places" Sherlock suggested.

"Sherlock, I don't think he can drive in his condition" John replied.

"Sure he does John, I've taken particular note of the scattered and visibly noticeable traces of engine oil lingering on the scruff of his neck, indicating he's only recently tried to repair the vehicle, which I spotted opposite ours when we parked"

"As you can-can s-see, I am quite the co-collector, th-that ex-extends to all-all manners of tr-trinkets from the pa-past, I specialize in rep-repairing th-them"

"So you just work on old cars, you don't operate them" John guessed. Nathan nodded.

"W-what a surp-surprise it was Mr. Holmes to co-come into this goo-good fortune. It nee-needs only one mo-more Garrideb, and I am ce-certain we can find one. My brother, terrific impersonator, taught me everything, is lo-long dead, those who share my name offers me so-some small consolidation"

Nathan looked at Sherlock, he did not remove his spectacles or train his eyes too intently on him, but what he said next

"Fam-family is al-all we-we have Mr. Holmes, you un-understand don't you?"


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

Nathan Garrideb held aloft in his hands a piece of chamois leather and franticly began polishing one of his valuable gold coins with it.

John and Sherlock remained seated, impressed still with the magnitude of the collection. While John kept to himself, not wanting to touch anything without express permission, Sherlock took it upon himself to flip through some of the kids comics scattered on the table.

Nathan held the coin up and presented it to his two guests.

"Syracusan" he said, his stutter continuing to make his presentation a thoroughly taxing one to sit through. "Th-they degenerate qui-quickly as their en-end comes, I hold them in supreme value, but some, alas, prefer th-the Alexandrian va-variations"

Nathan took note of Sherlock and John's curiosity in regards to his acquisitions.

"D-Do you find me a s-strange ma-man Mr. Holmes?"

"The strange is always the best place in which to turn and face" Sherlock replied.

"Th-then I-I am in good s-standing with y-you sir, your handling of str-strange matters is why I sought you out by l-letter" Nathan responded, an excitable smile forming on his face.

"Your American friend didn't seem to think you had the brightest of ideas sending for him" noted John.

"M-My m-more anxious instincts t-told m-me to trust i-in him first, but my l-logic dictated I contact Mr. Holmes" Nathan explained.

"You acted appropriately, but why are you so keen on acquiring an estate in America when it will require you to travel far from your collection?" inquired Holmes.

"No-nothing normally would M-Mr. Holmes, b-but John assured m-me he wi-will bu-buy me out as soon as c-c-claim is established"

"Is it your money he's interested in, or your collection?" asked John, which surprised Sherlock.

"E-excuse me?" Nathan asked.

"The cabinets, the doors with no means of access, the specific dates scribbled on all of them, what's all that about?" John asked.

"Ju-just ol-old records I appropriated c-classified files of confidential curiosity, I-I thought it b-best to pr-preserve them from pry-prying eyes. Including my own"

John took a glance at Sherlock, who's eyes remain trained on his friend, a glare quite penetrating, almost as if to implicitly instruct John to keep these observations private to later conversations between the two of them and not to the person of interest.

"Sorry" John said, understanding Sherlock's urges, "Just trying to slip one foot into an all god almighty shoe"

"F-Five million dollars would pe-permit me to a-add f-further specimens to my co-collection" Nathan elaborated, "I spe-specalise in all sorts of b-bones, from various loca-locations, lands spoiled o-only by tragedies and g-great wars. My co-collection cou-could ex-expand into a grand nu-nucleus, on-one I co-could call my-my own. The f-files yo-you see ar-around you wi-will eventually be-belong to an-another altogether d-different world, they a-are on leash to me. D-Do you have any further q-questions?"

Sherlock sprang up from the chair, and extended his hand to shake Nathans' hand

"I have asked very few, for I have formed a very clear narrative of your situation in my head...tell me, how long have you known the American?"

"Only a we-week Mr. Ho-Holmes" Nathan replied, "He-He called me just last T-Tuesday"

"Did he tell you of my interview with him today?"

"Y-Yes"

"Was he in a most foul temperament with you as he was with me?"

"T-that he w-was"

"Splendid" Sherlock replied, channelling more spirit than he had managed all day.

"Some of the dates were as recent as last year, on those cabinets, they wouldn't happen to be obituaries of some kind?" John said, his curiosity about the files again getting the better of him and threatening to derail the present line of inquiry.

"Eve-everything eventually dates sir" Nathan said.

"Ok, well enough, carry on Sherlock" John said, looking around with the pretence of interest in other items within the room.

"Given you seem to underestimate the value of some of the files you have been entrusted , do you have any fear of people intruding upon your property and taking them by force?" Sherlock asked.

"N-No, n-not in the least" Nathan replied

"And how long have you had these rooms?" Sherlock asked, which seemed to get John's attention

"Oh you're very welcome Sherlock, I get the ball rolling, and off you go bowling with it" he remarked.

"F-five years sir, I've ha-had them for f-five years"

Sherlock's cross-examination was swiftly interrupted by a fateful knock of the door. Nathan pressed a switch to the left of him which permitted the automatic door to slide open and let in their guest.

It was John Garrideb, a most excited and energized man. He held aloft in his hand a newspaper and instinctively made his way to where the remaining three men were stationed.

"Nathan, my main man, this is it, we've hit paydirt" Garrideb said, ecstatic with joy, "We're rich"

He gave Sherlock a condescending glare. "Sorry for wasting your precious time Holmes" he said, with no sincerity behind it.

John handed Nathan the newspaper, and pointed to an advertisement listing the name of a Howard Garrideb, who specialized in constructing carts and ploughs for farmers.

"I made some inquiries down in Birmingham, and was notified of this ad here, we gotta work this hustle quick my friend, I've already written to him, he expects in his office sharp at 4 o'clock tomorrow"

"I-I haven't travelled outside these walls for y-years" Nathan replied, shaken a little at the prospect.

Garrideb placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder

"Get up, talk to someone, come home for tea, go to bed, get up and do it all again. It's a standard procedure for people with a little bit of life in these here limbs" he said, holding up Nathan's frail right arm, then watching it steadily flop back into position as he let go of it.

"I've come all the way from the heart of my healthy homeland to meet with you, the 'least you could do is make an effort in return, only fair right Holmes?"

"Of course it is" Sherlock said, patting John Garrideb on the back with mild force, "Do send me an update"

"I'll see to that, you can be sure" said Garrideb, checking his watch and steadily backing out of the room, "I'll call you tomorrow bright and early to remind you to set off Nathan. I'd ask if you're going my way Mr. Holmes, but I'd rather not have you in direct path of it, at least not on my terms, we clear?"

"As glass Mr. Garrideb" said Sherlock.

As Garrideb strolled off, John noticed the sharp change in Sherlock's expression from the composed facade of sincerity to a more contemplative, slow-burning resentment calmed only by stark contemplation.

Sherlock turned back to Nathan.

"I would admire your collection further Nathan, but we must hasten back home...but I admir your persistence in amassing the peculiar."

Nathan beamed with pleasure. John felt the urge to smile too, it wasn't always like Sherlock to bring some new light to exhausted eyes.

"Yo-You're most welcome, the place will b-be shut up, bu-but Mrs. Saunders has assu-assured me she will b-be in the b-basement until 4 O'Clock a-after she-she's made her 'rounds"

"One more question for you Nathan...one more miracle for me you could say" Sherlock said, knowing that'd capture John's attention, "Do you have a house agent?

"Holloway and Steele, p-part of the E-Edgewood r-road. Why?"

"I have a fascination with old buildings...I have dealt with matters of the head and heart in many, is this a Queen Anne or Georgian?"

"G-Georgian" Nathan replied

"Beyond a doubt then" Sherlock muttered, before shaking Nathan's hand enthusiastically.

"So long Mr. Garrideb, may your journey be full of promise" Sherlock spoke, and promptly took his leave, John swiftly following him out of the house.

"Where are we heading now?" John asked as the two got into their car

"Holloway and Steele" Sherlock instructed.

John was hesitant to put his foot on the pedal.

"Sherlock?" he asked

"Hmm?" Sherlock replied.

"Are you sure you want to do what Mycroft suggests?" asked John, expressing concern, "This feels a little too ordinary, and I know the sort of man you become when things happen to people you care about. This case won't do anything to nourish you while Euros is out there"

"So long as a tight leash is kept, the drowning need not occur"

"...Drowning? Wait, are you trying to tell me as long as I work with you on this, you won't be driven to distraction? Are you saying I'm now your bloody dog?"

"Just drive" said Sherlock

To Sherlock and Watson's disappointment, they found Holland and Steele closed for the day.

"Well, that's a thing" said John, "Want to get a bite to eat instead?"

"Don't suggest Chips" Sherlock cautioned.

"Oh don't let what happened with you and Euros put you off food" John advised.

"There's something about that meeting I still can't quite process...Sherringford is an island prison. Presumably one cut off from all trace of the world and known waters, so how is she able to move from the prison to the shores of England...and have the money and resources to disguise herself, locate you with considerable ease to seduce you, and then know precisely which therapists you've scheduled appointments with?"

"See, I told you you'd become a bit distant once you started dwelling on what Mycroft advised you stay away from until he sorted everything out" John replied, Sherlock, however wasn't about to let his concerns get to him, not when he was on the verge of solving two problems at once.

"Please John, you were right, the Garrideb case is fairly straight-forward, and it's something I've already put to bed, I think enough time has been spent on it...now, please do me a favour and detach from our present problem so we can sort out yours"

"Mine?" John asked, folding his arms, predicting that Holmes had seen that he'd been somehow affected by their current mission.

"This case has been keeping both of us sane in traumatic hours" Sherlock observed, "This has been a form of control for you John. that's why you probably inquired about the cabinets and sealed rooms at Nathan's house, you said you were trying to place a foot in a bigger shoe, but I believe you would only point out that particular subject if it meant something more to you. It set something off didn't it?"

"I was a soldier, I've been in scenarios where we've had to bleed to keep that sort of thing out of prying eyes, it was a memory, and I wanted to know if there was a reality behind it"

"And in doing so, you helped me put together the last piece of the puzzle concerning the American Garrideb" Sherlock revealed

"In what way?" John asked

"We'll get to that, I want to talk about the newspaper"

"No, no you don't just leave people hanging like that, what is it about my line of inquiry that completed the jigsaw puzzle for you?"

"Actually, I think we'll skip the newspaper, let's take a step back or two to how Euros pulled off her deception"

"I really don't want to discuss this" said John, "You need to focus on a specific issue"

"Are you trying to assert control?" Sherlock asked, a tad flummoxed, "Because if all you can think of is how to best assert control, rest assured John, I will not play along when I feel you have let it already slip from your fingertips"

The tension was tangible between the two men, but John swiftly realized coming to terms with the effectiveness of Euro's operation was important for Holmes to work out at this crucial juncture, so he put his hands up in the air as if to surrender himself to his friend's more urgent needs to bring order to this neglected chaos.

"The night I met Euros, when we went out for chips and I spent the precious hours between moonlight and dawn showing off my skills to her, I noticed I was being tailed by helicopter. She was quick to point out that 'big brother' was watching me, but an eye in the sky doesn't just mean one relative is looking out for someone lost in the wilderness...big brother has to be eyes and ears for every brother, every sister, every street, and every friend from dusk until dawn, the watchmen never stop time, they make time. For everyone."

"Are you saying Euros knew where to find me on the bus because of surveillance in the sky?" John asked.

"What controls the web? The Spider at the centre" said Sherlock.

"Ok, so somehow you think your brother had something to do with staging my near adultery, fantastic" John said, his anger beginning to visibly show. Control was steadily slipping from his grip.

"Mycroft's no spider, there's no venom in his veins, but he works for a system that is prone to greater compromise than his emotional range. Not everyone who works within his web can resist straying from their strands, we've seen it before, and you know with who John"

"Christ, you really _do_ miss him don't you? You really miss Moriarty" John said in reference to the deceased criminal mastermind who's miraculous return had been greatly anticipated by Sherlock in recent months.

"He never misses a trick" Sherlock remarked, "Yet somehow we feel compelled to always miss that"

A sudden text alert caught Sherlock's eye.

 _Pall Mall. Urgent-GL_

"Who is it?" asked John.

"Lestrade" said Sherlock, urging John to head back to the car, his face all too telling that something was amiss, as if now it was his turn to let control slip.

"Something's happened, I can read it off you" said John, "What's going on?"

"It's Mycroft" said Sherlock.

As the car headed towards Mycroft's residence at Pall Mall, Sherlock and John noticed a line cordoning off the entrance and various officers and forensic specialists wandering in and out of the house.

* * *

The car came to a standstill and the two men exited, greeted by Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade, who escorted them inside.

"Real mess in there Sherlock" Lestrade commented, "You'd best be prepared before you go in there"

Sherlock noted and ignored the advice, for he was always prepared for the worse, even if it involved family, and he darted inside, John in close pursuit.

They swiftly followed the coroners and officers through the hallways and into the dining hall where the grim visuals of what happened earlier in the day awaited them.

"Dear god, that's Smallwood" said John, noting the corpse as it was loaded into a body bag.

"We'll get Hooper on post-mortem as soon as possible, though I'm not sure she'll be up to it given the day she's been having" said Lestrade.

"Why, what's got her down?" asked John, concerned for the state of mind his daughter's godmother was in.

"Oh she got a little too drunk the day before and slept around a bit, she was feeling a little guilty, something about feeling used" Lestrade replied. John sighed heavily and walked back over to Sherlock, opting not to tell him what he'd just heard.

Sherlock examined the blood on the table and then glanced upwards at the wall above the mantle on the fireplace.

"There should still be a camera there" Sherlock noted.

"Doesn't seem to be there now" John replied.

"Smallwood's department's been informed" Lestrade continued "They said they're looking into it, they think this may be connected to what's going on with Moriarty. I thought that viral message he left ages ago meant he was looking to tail the big fish, but he's left it a little late, probably to make sure nobody was trailing him"

"The games being played have been less intrusive on the rest of the civilised world" Sherlock commented.

"Do you know where Mycroft is?" said John.

"Not a trace of him. All security feeds in this place were shortened out, we're combing the park around the building now for disposed weapons, but his disappearing act does mean we have to be on the lookout for him"

"Surely you don't think Mycroft did this do you?" John said.

"Without the security feeds, we can't be sure if the two spent the day together with anyone else" Lestrade continued.

"Mr. Holmes?" a fellow Detective said, handing him a note partially drenched in steadily drying blood, "This letter is addressed to you"

"Posthumous post" Sherlock remarked.

"For god's sake Sherlock, tragedy strikes at your brother's door, and you can't resist a rib" John remarked.

Sherlock placed the envelope within the right hand pocket of his waistcoat and turned back to Lestrade.

"Lestrade, I think you and I need to discuss a separate matter at the moment, you need to prioritise a unit that is prepared to arrest James Winter"

"Winter? Wait, you surely don't mean 'Killer' Evans? You saying he's here?" asked Lestrade in a surprised tone.

"Excuse me, what's going on now?" asked John, "Have you worked out who killed Smallwood?"

"No, but we need to act swiftly if we're to prevent more immediate tragedy. Our American friend John Garrideb is in reality Jonathan Winter, better known by reputation stateside as Moorcroft 'Killer' Evans, responsible for three deaths in his home state, and who escaped justice only through political wrangling"

"And how did you come about this?" John asked, again annoyed by how maverick Sherlock was in selecting what to be concerned about, even when family needed to come first, "Did he happen to place an ad for his services in the paper or something?"

"Precisely" Sherlock added, "I noticed specific errors in that paper he supplied Nathan. The misspelling of 'plough', good form English, but precision American. The printer set it up as received, then there were the buckboards, American by design also"

"But why go to all that trouble? What's his end goal?"

"That's the part you deduced John" Sherlock said with pride.

"The files Nathan has, they're government records, whoever got Winter out of prison wants him to secure the files" John realized.

"We must make haste back to Apple Tree Yard, this is now a matter of National Security, precisely what Mycroft would want us to preserve"

"So this whole time, this straight forward case..." John began

"...Was just another strand of the web" Sherlock revealed.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

Once Lestrade had managed to put together a special unit, he and his men were given specific instructions by Sherlock not to move in on Nathan Garrideb's home until 4'Oclock in the afternoon, and to permit only he and John near the scene for the first fifteen or s minutes so as not to set off any immediate alarm.

Sherlock tapped lightly on the door. This time an able woman, Mrs. Saunders, was present to answer their request, and permitted them entry. She swiftly took her leave of them, locking the door as soon as they stepped back in.

John watched her get into a familiar car through a window, the car he and Sherlock had assumed belonged to Nathan Garrideb.

Prior to her departure, Sherlock picked up an utterance of quick and quiet works from Saunders, and a faint lock could be heard.

As John pondered this nagging sensation of déjà vu, Sherlock immediately took to the sealed chambers lining the corridors, looking for a means of entry.

"There's something strikingly familiar about that girl" said John, taking note of Saunders's physical appearance, the fact she did her best not to smile when greeting the two men. It was almost as if she didn't want to smile in case John recognized it from somewhere. She had also taken to wearing distinctly dark shades to conceal her eyes.

"No strangers dwell in this land John" said Sherlock, "That's what connects us all in this web, the urge not to stray from what connects us to the past so we may build a future, and the connections are no stronger than here"

"So how are we going to get into those rooms?" asked John.

"Careless whispers John" teased Sherlock.

"You're not making sense" replied John.

"A voice activated lock John, just before she let us in, I heard Saunders mutter something that created a distinct noise, faint for most ears, but I am if ever an amiable listener" Sherlock replied.

"So what words could trigger the door?" said John.

"That's the mystery, probably why Saunders didn't want to stick around in case I took to interrogating her in regards to the sort of appointments and priorities that compel her to leave this house and Nathan's company on a frequent basis"

"Well she did lock us in" John noted, "Obviously one priority is to make sure we don't wander off and tell Greg our findings"

"There is a devilish ingenuity to this whole affair John, Evans is remarkably cunning to weave this web to his liking"

"These records, perhaps there's something incriminating on him and that provides him with more reason to target this house?" asked John.

"Exactly, working on a hypothesis, I'd suggest he was looking for dirt connecting him to a fellow criminal, one of those he murdered back in the States, a Rodger Prescott, who had ties to a most organized of syndicates"

"You think that might be Moriarty's web then?" asked John, but Sherlock had already opted to distract himself through texting. John wandered over to him and watched him send out another message to Lestrade

 _Hold off until Evans arrives. I must see what the hour brings-SH_

"You want us to sit in here while a killer comes waltzing in?" asked a concerned John.

"I came prepared John" said Sherlock as he dug deep into his pockets and handed John a revolver, he also revealed he had one of his own.

"This isn't going to make my next therapist very happy" said John

The two clung to the shadows of the hallway, awaiting Evan's hour to arrive. They had not long to wait, as the turning of a lock could be heard from the outer door, and the American assassin stepped forth to claim his prize.

He made his way over to the fourth of the sealed rooms and uttered one word .

"Love"

As with Saunders earlier, the command produced a distinct sound, a bolt snapped out of place and Winter was able to delicately push back the wall and gain entry to a darkened room.

John took a glance at Sherlock, his mind was racing, putting further connections together, coming to grips with the spider at the centre of the web. With a clearer understanding, he urged John to quietly make their way over to the door so as to exit the building and alert Lestrade to swoop in immediately. They could spend time merely texting updates on the situation. Action had to be immediate.

Unfortunately, the two were swiftly compromised by creaking floorboards, which caused Winter to peer out of the chamber and make direct contact with them.

"You are too much for me Holmes" Evans said, trying to maintain a cooler composure as his baffled rage rose to the surface, "You've seen how I've played my own game...but have you worked out the other game?"

"Yes" said Sherlock

"Really?" asked a curious Evans, "What tipped you off?"

"Careless whispers" the Detective replied.

"If I may be blunt with you again sir, from all I've heard about you from my benefactors, you're careless in a lot of areas" Evans taunted, and pulled out a concealed weapon of his own, pulling the trigger within the instant he took aim with it.

Two shots were fired, Sherlock darted into one corner of the hallway, but the second found it's mark, hitting John in the thigh like a red hot searing iron.

As John tumbled to the floor, his sight caught a glimpse of what looked like Sherlock, in a maddening rage, enveloping Evans, clocking him from behind the base of the neck with the back end of his own revolver, causing blood to pour from Evan's head. Sherlock set his fists upon Evan's stomach and features, refusing to let him lie still.

John called out Sherlock's name, and it seemed to keep his predatory attack from escalating further. Sherlock let Winter drop to the floor and dashed over to John's side.

"John?" Sherlock said, in great distress, "John, please say you're alright"

"It's just my thigh, that's a scratch where wounds of war go" John said, holding back as much pain in his voice as possible to keep Holmes clear of further anxiety.

Sherlock took a pocket knife from his person and sliced open the side of John's trousers to inspect the wound.

"Those are worth £50 you know" John replied, but Sherlock's fixation on the wound was much greater than the price John had paid for his choice of clothing.

Sherlock sighed in relief as he examined the wound and found the damage minimal.

He turned his attention back to Evans.

"It's just as well for you that my friend has a superficial wound" Sherlock said, a distinct and furious temper rising in his vocal delivery, "Had it not been, you would not have stepped out of this house of your own free will, your will be in the hands of whoever would judge you in the next life, your body would be on a slab being donated to the pursuit of science"

Evans remained silent, humbled by the physical blows from Holmes' fists.

Sherlock steadily brought John to his feet and put his right arm over his shoulder to sustain him. The two made their way into the opened chamber to inspect its contents.

"Not a bad hoard" John wearily observed, impressed with the amount of printed papers and blueprints scattered across the floors and tables. Sherlock was concerned at the unkempt state of the chamber. Nathan was evidently not that well organized, as he and John had already witnessed when they first met him.

One particular set of blueprints caught their attention, one for a printing press.

"Of course" Sherlock said, "I read that Prescott was a renowned counterfeiter, capable of creating devices that could forge notes and bills that were indistinguishable from the real currency"

"So the government, or whatever political movement that sprang Evans, wanted to somehow hoodwink the market, but didn't want their paws dirtied, so they sent Prescott's killer to retrieve his goods so there would be an easy scapegoat if he failed, and he has.

"I killed him at the peak of his career five years ago" Evans revealed, "I was snatched up before I could take over his operation. I kept quiet until Christmas, that's when I got a present"

"A pardon" Sherlock deduced, "As well as an order, an order to retrieve his plans for the press from this building. you do that, you get a modestly high paycheque, but you didn't count on Nathan and his reluctance to leave his home, his collection, but most specifically his duty...a duty to keep his majesty's secrets from prying eyes. Not even taking a paycheque so as to ensure no one traced the transfer of the files to his door. It made him vulnerable, isolated, and without his brother to look after him, it would take a special kind of lottery ticket to appease him. You provided him with a false hope"

"Look, just help yourselves my friends, let me go" Evans pleaded, but Sherlock laughed off the suggestion, realizing even Evans knew how empty the offer was as all three of them could hear the police sirens outside.

Sherlock held up his phone highlighting a text message

 _His hour come 'round at last-SH_

As Evans was hauled away, an ambulance was soon called upon to transport John to hospital so he may have his wound taken care of.

"Do you want to ride along with him?" Lestrade asked as John was loaded into the ambulance, John gave Sherlock a reassuring thumbs up, Sherlock waved back with a strained smile, but Lestrade could tell he was hurting inside. More to the point, he could tell Sherlock was feeling somewhat guilty for allowing something else to distract him, the letter he had handed earlier at Mycroft's manor.

"No, no thank you Greg" Sherlock said, "Please notify John's circle of friends of his incapacitation and get one of them to check in on little Rosie. And If you could, tell John I've got a small matter to deal with back home, but that I will be at his side as soon as possible"

"I will, thanks" Lestrade said, taken aback by Sherlock addressing him by his first name.

A fellow officer walked over to Lestrade.

"That's him isn't it sir? Sherlock Holmes...he's a great man"

"More important than that" Lestrade said, "He's a good one"

* * *

Mrs. Hudson could tell Sherlock was in a mood that ill-suited the process of interruption, but she felt compelled to offer him home comforts as he sat in the centre of his flat, contemplating the contents of the letter he was holding in his hand. The blood-soaked envelope lying on the edge of the table next to him.

"Do you need anything?" Mrs. Hudson asked quietly, but Sherlock remained distant.

His playful and perilous mind-palace envisioned his flat as a charred husk, as if it had been torn apart by the raging fires unleashed by a bomb. The situation with John had been what had set it off.

Sherlock had to grasp with the futility of meticulous preparation in the face of fate. No matter how much he had done to arm himself and John beforehand , it took only a quick and sudden round of shots to bring disruption and disturbance to the world the pair had only steadily allowed themselves to slip comfortably back into.

That was what brought the great disquiet to the soul, that nothing could be that simple in their line of work. Everything came with hardship, and everything in their reality escalates.

It would be all too easy to blame Euros for the state of disrepair within his mind, to rewrite the day's events as simplistically as he had done the last time her spectre weighed heavily on his fragile psyche, he could so easily write John's predicament, and his feelings of near helplessness, out of the day's events, make it appear as if he'd just gone home to tend to Rosie's needs, but he knew better at this stage.

Euros was not to blame for the random designs of life, and if he was to see Mycroft again, he needed to keep the order of the day intact, for they were vital to working out the contents, and more importantly, context of the letter.

The Prowse in the letter was unmistakeably from Smallwood.

" _Sherlock, while this message is by my hand, the words below belong to another voice:_

 _Worry not about Mycroft._

 _There is a plan and a place for him, and for you._

 _Find him._

 _Find Me._

 _Find Yourself_

 _134 1719 28 9 1520 1818 2426 1617 1822 32"_

Sherlock pondered the meaning of the numbers above the riddle worded above them.

Were they co-ordinates?

Or something else?

Mrs. Hudson came back through with some tea and Sherlock's phone, revealing that a text had come in from Greg.

 _Security feed partially recovered. Sent you an e-mail-GL._

Sherlock sighed in frustration, for his laptop was in a state of disrepair.

He texted Greg back, demanding he know the details of the feed.

After a few minutes, Greg texted him back

 _They talked about Euros. She told Mycroft there was a place for him-GL._

Sherlock's mind came to the most rational conclusion as to Mycroft's whereabouts.

Within an hour or so, he was visiting John at the hospital

"Sherringford" he said, "He's up at Sherringford" he told his stricken friend.

"Well you'd better go after him" John replied.

"Alone?" Sherlock said.

"I'm not exactly fit for the situation" John replied.

"No, no, someone needs to look after you" Sherlock insisted.

"Leave me the doctors, I'll be fine"

"I don't trust the NHS"

"Oh you must have been a joy to work on after Mary shot you..."

"Dammit John, that's not funny" Sherlock sharply spoke, "It's a reminder to me that love is a disadvantage"

Sherlock composed himself, staring out the window, overlooking the traffic down below.

"I sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with us...the human race, how we burdened ourselves with the element of compassion...and Mycroft always taught me that every heart is broken by it"

"And what do you think now?" John asked.

"Compassion strengthens us" said Sherlock, "Mycroft did not put up such emotional fortitude over the span of his service to this country out of an attempt to escape the emotional ordeals handed out by life, but to drive him towards something he had lost sight and sense of...Euros, family. He wanted to have a place at her table"

"Guess who's coming to dinner instead" John remarked.

"Do you think I can do this John?" Sherlock replied,.

"Yes, yes of course I do, but I need you to be sure of that yourself" John replied, "If you want the kind of strength that moved Mycroft forward all these years, you're going to have to do something for me"

* * *

Molly Hooper stared at the sink as she turned the taps off, having finished washing the dishes.

The doorbell rang again, as it had for several minutes. In each instance she had opted to ignore it, but the ringing persisted

Molly peered out the window of her flat and saw Sherlock, who put on a slightly awkward and unconvincing smile as he waved back to her.

"You bastard" she muttered under her breath, and finally caved to the whims of the doorbell.

"What is it Sherlock?" she said with as much dignity as she could permit herself.

"Molly" Sherlock said

"This better be important because I'm not having a good day"

"So I heard...which is why I'm here. I wanted to see if you were alright"

Molly folded her arms and straightened herself up a bit to generate a presence of authority.

"Did someone put you up to this?"

Sherlock wondered whether or not to tell her this was partially a favour from John, but he knew how instinctive she was. She would tell a lie right from the offset.

"John...was concerned" he said, opting to dignify her with the truth

That seemed to be the right answer, as Molly gave Sherlock an assuring nod and invited him in.

Sherlock took note of his surroundings, everything in the flat looked slightly unsorted. The couch looked as if someone had recently been sleeping on it. There was a blanket hung over the edge of one of the chairs next to it with a few distinct chest hairs attached.

"Have you had company lately?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting Molly to clarify the details for him.

"Can't you tell? You usually can" Molly said sternly, trying to hide the raw emotion in her voice.

"If there's anything troubling you Molly, just say"

"And why would I tell you?"

"Aren't we friends?"

"Yes...maybe, I don't know these days Sherlock...I sometimes feel like you don't know what to do with me" Molly replied, her icy facade slowly dissipating, She covered her face with her hands.

Sherlock walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Molly, I..." he began, Molly shoved his tender touch aside.

"No, no don't do this to me Sherlock, I'm not ok at the moment"

"Neither am I" Sherlock admitted

"What?" Molly said, her concerns for her own state of being cast aside in the heartbeat reserved for his.

"I'm heading out in the morning...and I don't know if I'll be able to come back"

"What do you need?" Molly asked, reminded of the time she last asked such a request, a request that had secured their bond for the duration of their lifetimes since.

Sherlock looked at her, and as he did so, something happened. Something subtle, but sisemic. His usual cynical and overly analytical demeanour changed, his stereotypical paradigm shifted, he allowed some emotional release to stir in his voice and he looked at her with a comforting gaze.

"I need you say three words" he said.

"What words?" she asked.

"I have no place asking them of you, not with the way I have been to you over the years, these words have caused you great pain, caused you to lose the people you've been close to, it's even cost you a part of yourself...but I need to know if, after all you've been through, those three words still matter"

Molly slowly began to understand what he meant.

"I do not ask this to mock you, I do not ask this thinking it will mend a bridge that may already be too worn and broken to build, I ask this to give my impending madness some method"

"You're walking into danger aren't you?" Molly asked

"Molly, please, I need you to say them, if you do, I know I can come back from this" Sherlock replied

Molly pondered his request, and convinced herself her ultimatum was worth the potential price of her soul.

"You say them" she said.

Sherlock's nerves were steadily becoming as shot as hers.

"Go on. Say them like you mean it" she said.

Sherlock stared upwards at the ceiling, he prayed the world dare not collapse on top of him now.

"I..." he began, placing his thoughts and memories of times shared with Molly above all other interactions he has had with women over the years, thinking of all the ones who had toyed with him emotionally, toyed with him out of pettiness and thriving on the thrill of the greater game.

This was not a game to him any longer, and this was a woman who was letting him know just what her terms were. If he was to stand a chance against Euros, to save Mycroft, and reclaim some measure of peace for him and every other friend in his circle, he had to finally honour the last thing he tended to think of.

The only reason he put her last was because she was always what made everything before her possible.

"I...love you" he uttered, initially in a half-hearted manner, then he realized he was only holding off the inevitable. The thunder in his heart demanded a sudden and bold lightning strike of crystal clear clarity.

"I love you" he said, every ounce of the effort laced with sincerity.

Molly's eyes lit up, Sherlock could hear a distinct humming from her sealed lips. Molly placed her right hand over his cheek, gently pressed her head against his, and , summoning up as much of her limitless emotion as possible, she exchanged the same three words

"I love you"

Sherlock kissed her lightly on the forehead.

Now he was ready.

.


End file.
